


Riding Through

by Shachaai



Series: APH Olympics [12]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Rio 2016 Summer Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: Canada goes for a bike ride through the Olympics Village.





	Riding Through

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from my tumblr. This was originally written at the time of the 2016 Olympics in Brazil.

The bikes issued by the Canadian Olympic Committee for the team’s common use around the Rio Olympic Village are red and white - helpfully emblazoned with little maple leaves and _CANADA_ just in case anyone is in any doubt which country they belong to (Indonesia had infiltrated the Team Canada building once already on a dare from Australia, just to ‘borrow’ one of the bikes for gloating rights for an afternoon). They’re bright, sturdy and speedy little things, popular with the team, and Canada himself has to be pretty quick every day if he wants to get hold of one before they’re all taken up by his people. His friends and family are situated all over the Village, and it’s a long walk from one end to the other if a bike can’t be found.

Today, Canada has been lucky. He gives a pat to Mountie the Moose’s side as he exits the Team Canada building in thanks for his good luck, swinging his leg across the bike and setting off down the nearest main path. It’s a sunny day, not too hot and good for cycling, though Canada has to carefully weave in and out to avoid the pedestrians who are out and about as well. Distracted by Puerto Rico calling his name and waving from her balcony when Canada passes her building, he has a close call and almost rides straight into Mozambique and Zambia - who both give him hell despite his immediate and fervent apologies, his ears still burning red as he cycles away from them after they’ve wrung him through.

Quite a lot of his fellow Nations seem to be out and about. Canada can’t really speak for the half(? Third?) of the world who are roomed on the opposite side of the Village to him, in the long row of buildings where Japan, China, Russia and South Africa are all staying, their flags huge and bright in the sun, but the _other_ half of the Village seems busy enough, Nations mingling with humans and each other. Sprawled in a patch of grass and… probably half-asleep, Greece, Croatia and Djibouti seem to have found a sunny spot with a stray calico cat, while a lot of the younger island Nations who neighbour each other - Saint Kitts and Nevis, Antigua and Barbuda, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Grenada - are running wild with a ball in the centre park, playing some kind of game whose rules Canada can’t grasp even after stopping his bike for ten minutes just to watch them (though it seems to allow tackling someone to the floor and then sitting on their head and passing wind until they agree to surrender the ball, if the way Grenada is squirming in his noisy death throes under a gleeful St Kitts has anything to do with it).

Likewise, the Marshall, Solomon and Cook Islands are gambling for kiwis in front of Australia’s building with Papua New Guinea, the cards between them a deadly game of snap. They break from silence to furious cries of _SNAP_ so loudly Canada jerks and veers his bike straight into a bush, getting bruised shins, aching thighs, a banged ankle and a mouthful of scratchy _twigs_ when he swears_ tabernac_ at the wrong moment.

“Need a hand?”

A plume of familiarly-scented tobacco smoke going past his head has Canada raising his gaze from the thin beads of blood he now has blooming on his scratched hands, he mood greatly improving upon seeing the Netherlands sitting smoking on a nearby stone ledge, one of his long legs crossed over the other and eyebrows politely raised.

“I’m good!” Canada picks up his bike - and his dignity - from the floor. “I was coming to see you, actually.”

“That so?” The Netherlands regards him thoughtfully for a moment, before stubbing out his cigarette on the ledge beside him and standing up. Suddenly, Canada has to look _up_ to see him. “I know there are occasional jokes about my hair’s resemblance to a certain flower, but this must be the first time someone’s mistaken me for a _bush_.”

“That’s not -” The Netherlands isn’t _smiling_, exactly, but Canada can see the slightest lift in the Dutch Nation’s cheek, his eyes direct and relaxed rather than slanted in a sharp glare. “You’re teasing me.”

“A little,” the Netherlands agrees, and reaches across to pick out another leaf in Canada’s hair. Canada does his best not to flush. “You coming inside, before someone steals your bike?”

**Author's Note:**

> Mountie the Moose is the Canadian team mascot. They stick a moose statue outside their team building at every Olympics they attend now (which was particularly funny at London 2012 when the Canadian House was directly opposite the Americans, who took the moose as a CHALLENGE). In 2016, they did a twitter poll about what to call the moose, and 'Mountie the Moose' won with 40% of the votes. 'Madamooselle' came second, with 31%.


End file.
